


The Boy with the Best Intentions

by gwenyn_bright



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Established Relationship, Exchange of sexy photos, F/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenyn_bright/pseuds/gwenyn_bright
Summary: In which Bertholdt cannot handle receiving one (1) slightly sexy photo from Annie.Note: This is fanfic of a fanfic! This story is based on RankoMurasaki's songfic series "Queens of Noise". The Beruani fic is called "The Girl with the Broken Smile".
Relationships: Bertolt Hoover/Annie Leonhart
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	The Boy with the Best Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Queens of Noise AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/770727) by RankoMurasaki. 



> First of all, I have to make a public apology because I am a hypocrite who swore she would never write an AU but here we are. Thank you [Laura](https://twitter.com/laerehis) for the prompt and [RankoMurasaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RankoMurasaki) for creating such a beautiful series that made me change my mind.
> 
> I have written this fic so that it stands by itself, but if you know Spanish I want to strongly recommend reading first the source material, the [Queens of Noise AU](https://www.wattpad.com/list/818947746-queens-of-noise-snk-songfics-). I tried to make the characters fit the personification of this setting and they have been in a relationship for some time, so they could be a bit OOC from what I usually write them as.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the fic, I always love reading your thoughts on my writing.

Annie’s body screams with pain as she lowers herself into the bathtub filled with warm water.

_ ‘Cold water is better. It makes the bruising stop. It helps rebuild the muscles. It reduces inflammation.’ _

Her father’s words echo in her mind. She should know better than to skip the cold shower right after box training, but she can’t help it. Cold water hitting her body would feel like a second beating. She is too tired to care about the benefits of it. She needs the instant relief that can only be obtained from the heat enveloping her whole body.

Once settled in, she breathes deeply and consciously relaxes her shoulders and unlocks her jaw. She leans back and closes her eyes, willing herself to stop thinking about her dad’s voice and concentrate on the music coming from her cellphone, which is laying in a little wooden table next to the tub on top of some folded towels.

She fights the urge to look at it. She is certain there is at least one message from Bertholdt waiting for her there. He usually sends her encouraging texts and stickers, encouraging her to do her best in training and reminding her of his feelings. It’s sweet. So sweet, in fact, that with her current mood she would find it annoying and suffocating. She knows herself well enough to know she must first calm down before she takes a look.

Annie lets her back slide down on the slanted wall of the tub until her head is fully submerged, and she stays underwater long enough for her lungs to cry for oxygen. After surfacing, she hugs her knees and closes her eyes, half-singing, half-humming the words to the song.

“Sit there, hmmm, count your fingers, what else, what else is there to do?”

She wiggles her toes slightly and pays attention to how her whole body is feeling. Sore. Aching. Exhausted. It is her fault. She should have known better.

If she trains every day, she can keep up with her father’s unrealistic expectations. But he had been sick all week, and would leave during training trusting she would do it fully on her own… but she faked it. She half-assed it, or chose instead to go running to break enough of a sweat to fool him in that moment.

It’s not like she hates boxing, but she does not want to be the best at it. She is sick and tired of her life revolving around competitions, of having a strict curfew at the age of 18, of having to dedicate her life to her father’s dreams.

It didn’t take long for him to notice it, though, and when he recovered he made sure the training was extra hard to make up for it. Annie, with her milky white skin, was prone to bruising. It got tougher if she was constant with her training, but as soon as she stopped doing it for more than four or five days, she got big, ugly, bruises, especially on her shins and forearms.

Annie lifts her left lower leg above the water to observe the bruises. Only slightly dark, but would get a deep purple in a matter of hours. She puts her leg down again and sighs, laying back once again and closing her eyes.

The music helps take her mind off things. After twenty minutes, she feels somewhat better and finally decides to look at her phone. Only two notifications, as expected. One is from the group chat of her band, Queens of Noise, and she guesses it’s Sasha sending a meme. The other one is from Bertholdt.

She opens their conversation and there it is. A cute sticker of a giraffe hugging a kangaroo, and underneath a text message.

> **[Bertholdt H.]**
> 
> Good luck! You are the best 🌹

She snorts lightly to avoid smiling. They have been dating for almost two years now —eight in Bertholdt’s mind— and some days she still can’t believe it. He has been there for her almost from the very day she moved into the neighborhood with her father.

Things developed in the way things usually do for couples. A kiss. Two kisses. Three. Holding hands. Hugging. Cuddling. Then more.

Every time they were together, it was apparent there was a hunger within Bertholdt that he did his best to hold back. It surprised her when she realized she also had that hunger, perhaps not as deep and long-standing as he did but present nonetheless, especially when their kisses deepened and their hands roamed. 

They both are total beginners in every sense of the word. Every single “first” each of them has experienced has been with the other. She is grateful things have gone slowly so far, but sometimes she wonders if that is what she will always want or need. Because she knows that, despite that eagerness inherent to teenage boys, Bertholdt is extremely insecure. Pair that up with his devotion for her, his fear of hurting or pressuring her... 

Perhaps she would have to take things into her own hands at some point. It doesn’t really bother her. She thinks they would both like that very much, all things considered, but that was also embarrassing in its own way. She hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with it, but she  _ knows _ that if she had to make a fool of herself there is no other person in the world she would choose to be with in that moment than Bertholdt.

Annie sighs again as she looks at the screen. She doesn’t know what to text back, so she sets her phone back on top of a towel and returns to the warm comfort of the bathtub. She applies shampoo and rinses it, then begins to clean her body, lathering soap and scrubbing gently to avoid hurting the painful spots on her limbs.

She continues cleansing her body, and it strikes her as odd how uneasy she is feeling: there is a little tightness in her stomach, a little flush to her cheeks. She glances at her phone, unlocked and with Bertholdt’s conversation active, and she realizes it’s probably because of that and rolls her eyes.

It’s dumb, but somehow she feels as if he was in there bathroom, only a quick turn away from being able to see her sitting in the tub, naked. When the thought forms fully inside her mind, her face heats up and a tingle between her legs makes her shiver.

They have barely seen each other’s bodies before. There had been one time, one year after they formalized their relationship, in which his shirt was discarded and she was on top of him in just her underwear, and had his parents not arrived home at that moment who knows what would have happened. Neither Bertholdt nor Annie ever mention it again, and sometimes she even doubts it happened in the first place.

The last time anything remotely close to seeing their bare bodies had been in a pool party last summer, but she had refused to get in and they spent most of their time under an umbrella. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and long swimming trunks, and she had shorts and a sleeveless top over her one-piece swimming suit. Bertholdt had eventually been persuaded to get in for a little while with Reiner and some other friends, and she remembers being awestruck when he took off the shirt. He was not athletic, but his broad shoulders and narrow waist were a shock without clothes, and her eyes widened as she saw him in a different light. He was a  _ man _ .

She never told him about that realization (that would have been mortifying for both of them), but since that moment she made a point of feeling him up thoroughly under his shirt whenever they made out. He followed her lead and had finally worked his courage to cup her clothed breasts once, something that had seemed to be a religious experience for the lad.

Her head becomes slightly dizzy as her body remembers the way he had touched her, so soft and caring but somehow also overwhelming —perhaps due to the size difference. Sometimes she feels like he could envelop her whole, him being almost 40 centimeters taller than she was; at the same time, knowing that someone of her size has him at her beck and call makes her feel something for which words that have not been invented yet.

An idea strikes her and she glances at the phone nervously before patting her hands dry with the towel and grabbing it again. She exits the chat application and instead opens the camera and points it at her knees, which are peeking out of the foamy water.

She clicks on the button, and the preview soon loads on the screen.

_ ‘They look like sausages’,  _ she thinks with disappointment and promptly deletes it, dropping the cellphone on the towel again with a huff.  _ ‘What are you doing?’ _

Eventually, she gets out of the tub and walks to the shower, where she properly rinses herself. She dries off and quickly puts on her pajamas: soft cotton shorts and a light tank top, both a light gray. As she brushes her teeth, the exhaustion sets again inside of her and she feels her eyes heavy and her mind losing focus.

Annie drags her feet to her bedroom and lets herself fall onto the bed, regretting it immediately as some of the bruises hit the mattress with the force of her own dead weight. She worms her way under the covers and checks her phone one last time because she hasn’t answered Bertholdt’s message yet.

As she unlocks the screen, she reads the time. 8:34 p.m. It’s quite early, and he is probably studying diligently for an upcoming test. She considers not replying —he would get a bit worried, but he’d understand and she’d apologize in the morning— but decides against it. 

She opens the conversation and his cute message of encouragement stares at her. She is not particularly fond of stickers or emojis, so she sometimes hates how plain and dry her messages seem compared to his.

The mischievous idea she had back in the bathroom returns to her mind, and she only entertains it because her brain is almost shutting off, and her frontal lobe is definitely not up to its usual sharp self in the decision-making department. She turns on the lamp in her nightstand, the cream-colored shade making it give off a warm, soft light that she has always liked.

Once again, Annie opens the camera application. She pulls off the covers, then hooks a finger to the low neckline of her tank top and pulls it down, revealing her cleavage. After some adjustments in her position, she snaps the picture and reviews it briefly. It looks nice and surprisingly sexy, showing her collarbone and a generous peek of the upper swell of her breasts, with just a little bit of her bare legs.

Her face heats up as she attaches the picture to the message “Do your best”. She double-checks, triple-checks she is in the right conversation, the one only with Bertholdt and her, before tapping the send button.

Oddly satisfied with her deed, Annie lays on her back and sinks into her pillow, not even turning off the light before she falls asleep almost on the spot.

~ * ~

Bertholdt looks at his phone as it buzzes once, signaling the receipt of a new message. He tilts it toward him. One new message from Annie Leonhart. "Do your best", and an attached image for which there is no preview in the notification.

He smiles and feels his heart soar slightly at her encouragement. Knowing Annie's weird sense of humor, he is certain she attached a meme that he would have to ask an explanation for later. He puts the phone back in the desk and returns to his note-taking, with a renewed sense of purpose thanks to his girlfriend's simple message.

Half an hour later, Bertholdt leans back on his chair and stretches his arms and back, yawning.

_ 'Enough for tonight,' _ he decides and pushes himself away from his desk. He proceeds to leave his room and head into the kitchen. Not actually hungry but still craving something sweet, he cuts a slice of peach pie that sits enticingly in the fridge and pours himself a glass of milk, then makes his way back to his bedroom.

By the time he gets there, he has already eaten half of the content on his plate and takes a big gulp of milk to down it. It's as delicious as always, his mom’s specialty.

He sets the plate and the glass on his desk and finally takes his phone, unlocking it and immediately opening the chat application to see Annie's message from earlier.

It is said that the human mind has trouble processing something that is seen for the very first time. That is exactly what happens to Bertholdt, who stares for several seconds at the picture Annie had attached to her message trying to figure out what exactly he is looking at. When his brain finally assimilates it, he immediately throws the phone to his bed as if it had burnt him and covers his mouth and nose with his hands.

_ ‘Was that… Annie?’ _

He reaches out to take his phone to verify and he realizes his whole body is shaking and hot. Licking his lips and bracing himself for whatever awaits him behind the screen, he takes the gadget and looks at it, his head slightly dizzy.

It  _ is _ Annie. He hasn’t been to her room nearly as often as she has been to his, but he identifies the sheets (navy blue with a classy pattern of tiny white polka-dots) and the person laying on the bed could be no one else. He’d recognize her anywhere, even when her face didn’t appear in the photo. His heart hammers behind his ribs and his breathing is slow and heavy as he tries to make sense of it all. 

Bertholdt lays down on the bed, unable to take his eyes off the picture, unaware he is committing every last detail to memory. He gulps hard as his eyes linger on her breasts, his brain bringing forth the memory of that supple, plush mound in his large hand.

He looks out the window and notices there is a faint light coming from Annie’s room in the house next door, but that doesn’t really mean she’s awake. It’s not strange for her to fall asleep so early, as her arduous boxing training sometimes takes the best out of her. Still, the fact that she is no more than 25 meters away from him right now and knowing exactly what she is wearing is mightily exciting to the boy.

Annie’s “last online” status is set to the moment she sent the text, but he still takes the chance.

> **[Bertholdt H.]**
> 
> 😳😳😳
> 
> Wow, Annie. You are so beautiful.
> 
> Are you awake right now?

He places the phone on his chest and sighs, trying to ignore the lameness of his message. But, really, what  _ could _ he even say to that? He didn’t have it in him to be more vulgar, and anything that could be romantic was impossible given the absolute mess he currently was because of a single picture. If he could speak to her on the phone, maybe she could at least listen to his fervent string of “Oh, Annie” and “You are so amazing”.

Fifteen minutes pass without an answer. All the while, Bertholdt has been glancing at the picture, breathing deep sighs of longing, and putting it back on his chest to calm himself down. He repeats this at least three times a minute.

Eventually, his right hand crawls down towards the bulge between his legs, a natural response to the excitement that needed to be relieved. When he realizes it, he stops himself, grabbing the hem of his shirt and curling his fingers into a fist to ground himself. He  _ wouldn’t _ give in to his baser instincts, it was disrespectful to Annie.

He decides to keep his mind entertained on something else, so he gets off his bed and goes to the desk to eat the rest of the pie he had brought with him. That takes all of fifteen seconds, and his hand automatically unlocks his phone again, where Annie’s picture makes him react as expected —a wave of butterflies in his stomach, a quickened heartbeat, his head fuzzy, the blood in his body rushing again to his lower half.

_ ‘Stop it!’ _

He locks his phone again and quickly scans his bookshelf, taking a graphic novel in his hands. As soon as he sits down on his chair, he ignores it and returns to look at Annie’s photo. This happens again and again, be it videogames or trying to solve math problems or even Reiner’s “fail-proof” method of doing push-ups until his mind went blank.

He bites his lips nervously, analyzing the situation. Annie had taken that picture with a purpose in mind, given the way she had posed in it. She had sent it to him. She is smart enough to know the effect it would have on him. Not to mention, they had gone pretty far before while making out. A particular event that, unbeknownst to him, Annie had also recalled earlier comes to mind.

So she probably knew what could happen… maybe she even wanted it to happen. Still, Bertholdt mulls it over and over, thinking it too impersonal or disrespectful. Then, an idea strikes him. He should send one of himself to Annie.

They would be even. He would feel less guilty because he’d be just as vulnerable as her —in the sense that she could do whatever she wanted with the picture, just as he could with hers.

With some apprehension, he opens the camera application in his phone and activates the selfie mode, and looks at himself. A blush spreads along his face as he meets his own eyes.

_ ‘How do I even do this?’ _ he asks himself.

His first thought is asking Reiner as usual, but that wouldn’t work. Reiner is very smart and would immediately suspect something was up —it definitely wasn’t like Bertholdt to send a sexy pic on his own accord— and he would dread having to tell him that Annie had sent one to him first. It was for Reiner’s own safety that Bertholdt never revealed anything about Annie that he could blurt out in front of her and end in physical pain.

So, his only other option is searching online.

“How-to-send-a-sexy-pic-to-your-girlfriend,” he mutters slowly as he types every word into the search bar.

He is immediately presented with thousands of search results which seem promising. He taps on the link of one that seems legitimate enough and is immediately assaulted by several images of muscled men grabbing their erections through their underwear.

Bertholdt almost drops his phone in embarrassment. There is no way he could send Annie a picture like  _ that _ . He backtracks and tries another search result, then another and another. By the end of his brief research, he is much less alarmed by the sensual depictions of men and women, but his anxiety has risen as his self-esteem has lowered.

It seems like the male-focused selfies rely entirely on having an extremely muscular body, a huge dick, or a combination of both.

The latter was not a problem —or at least not for now. It was something that lived in the back of his mind, though, because Annie was so tiny and he was so… not. But since sex seemed like something so far away right now, he didn’t let it bother him too much. Because of that, though, sending something as crude as his erection, even clothed, seemed like too much.

However, Bertholdt is not even close to being as muscular as the guys in the examples of the articles. He was tall and lean, and while he was no longer lanky and his arms and legs had filled up proportionately, there was no definition.

He just recently started doing a light routine that Reiner had set up for him as a favor, which he did some evenings —nothing too complicated, just push-ups, sit-ups, crunches… the basics, so at least he wasn’t all soft. He sometimes felt guilty about it. Because of his height and build, he was often sought-after by the sports clubs. And he was naturally athletic, too, but to be honest they just didn’t appeal to him. Now he wishes he would have stayed in the volleyball club like in Jr. High School. 

He sighs, and decides to suck it up. It wasn’t as if he could just build some muscle in the next five minutes, and Annie seems to like the way he is right now. He sucks up his insecurities and pulls the curtains of his window shut before taking off his shirt and laying on his bed.

With some difficulty, he snaps a series of photos trying to emulate those he found online while toning down the explicitness. The soft light of his night lamps also helps, and after some trial and error, he ends up with something decent. The shot is similar to the one his girlfriend had sent over, taken from his neck down, and it shows his chest, abdomen, and his left hip bone, with his hand lowering the waistband of his sweatpants suggestively. He had a considerable amount of body hair —something Annie had been very curious about previously—, so his chest and the trail of hair below his navel contrasted to his unnaturally-lightened skin due to the glow of the lamp. His hard-on is not really noticeable thanks to the shading on his lower half and the distance provided by his height. Still, if Annie wanted to zoom in ( _ gulp! _ ) she would find it.

Thinking this would be as good as he’d be able to manage for the moment (and with a renewed sense of commitment to working out from now on), he attaches the selected photo to a short and sweet “😘” and hits send before locking his phone and pushing it away from him.

A weird mix of anxiety and relief washes over him, and he rolls around his bed, unable to stay still. In the struggle, he ends up pressing his crotch against a pillow and he closes his eyes at the temporary relief it brings. He tilts his hips again to put more pressure and a soft moan escapes his lips. The motion is repeated again and again, first slowly then picking up the pace.

The picture is in his mind. Then Annie’s face. He’s in her room. On her bed. She leans over him and stares him down, and it's equally scary and arousing to Bertholdt.

As the fantasy becomes vivid, he slips his hand under his sweatpants and boxers and grips himself, then rolls so that he is on his side.

Annie takes his right hand and brings it to her breast, and he fondles it gently until she is moaning his name. The thin straps of her tank top slide down her strong shoulders as she squirms, and she separates herself from him to pull it down, revealing a pair of white, plump mounds crowned with rosy nipples and light areolas that fade around them.

Bertholdt licks his lip as his grip around his member tightens and he begins to pump in earnest. 

Back in his imagination, Annie is the one doing it to him. How they got there doesn't matter. She has him against the wall, and their chest are pressed together and her hands work in tandem to stroke his cock with a dexterity that shouldn't be there.

He can almost hear her calling his name, asking him if it feels good, and it doesn't take long for him to reach his release. He could make it last longer, edge for minutes and keep the fantasy going, but doesn't really want to. He reaches for a tissue just in time and spills his semen into it as his body jerks slightly and he sighs dreamily.

He falls on his back and sinks into the bed after the delicious orgasm. Crumpling the tissue and tossing it to the waste basket, he reaches for his phone and unlocks it. Annie’s picture is right there, and he feels his face grow hot again. He loves her so much. Has loved her for years, but every single day the feeling evolves. As a 10-year-old, he loved her in the way someone his age knew. As an 18-year-old, his definition has expanded to more than just his childish infatuation and into something more real, something he wishes would last forever.

They had gone through so much together, and in his heart of hearts he could not picture a future without her. But he also knew they were young, and Annie still had no idea of what she wanted to do with her life. They had enough time to figure things out. Even if her father was strict beyond normal or necessary, Bertholdt was certain he was a good man who cared for his daughter and would accept her decisions when the moment came. After all, he gave in when Annie joined the band with the other girls.

One thought leads to another, and now Bertholdt is thinking about Mr. Leonhart and Annie, and soon a dark feeling of dread falls upon him. The guilt returns, and the nervous boy is filled with paranoia. What if Mr. Leonhart sees the contents of Annie’s phone? What if he checks her phone first thing in the morning and sees his message and his photo?

Or worse: what if someone hacks into their phones and both their photos get leaked? That would be disastrous… They didn’t photograph their face, but the whole worst-case scenario runs so fast through his brain he doesn’t have time  _ not _ to panic.

He deletes Annie’s photo and his recent photoshoot from his phone and stares nervously at the phone call icon, wondering if it would be a good idea to ring Annie and wake her up to ask her to delete his picture as soon as possible.

~*~

Annie is neither a light sleeper nor a heavy sleeper, but she usually spends her eight hours (or even more) of rest pretty soundly thanks to the heavy training she does every day. Still, if something out of the ordinary breaks the peace of the night in her bedroom, she is bound to wake up. The sound of knocking against her window on the second floor definitely qualifies as something out of the ordinary.

She rouses disoriented, but as soon as she realizes the source of the sound a cold chill runs through her body and she sits up quickly, looking with panic at the window where Bertholdt is staring helplessly at her with big puppy eyes. She is both relieved and annoyed to find her boyfriend there and has half a mind to turn around and leave him there to atone for scaring her like that, but he wouldn’t come to her house just for shits and giggles. Something must have happened.

She unlocks her window and opens it, and Bertholdt immediately whispers a harsh “Annie, I’m sorry. I messed up.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks groggily while blinking to focus properly.

“That picture you sent me…” he begins, then his voice lowers as his face turns red.

A blush spreads on her cheeks once she remembers what she had done, but she can’t understand why that would make him come all the way here and  _ climb _ to her window.

“I…” Bert continues. “I’m sorry.”

Annie frows. “What are you talking about? Why are you sorry? Come inside.”

“Oh, right.”

He gets inside and when he stands right in front of her to his full height, he realizes the implications of the decision he had taken on impulse. Nothing good ever came from rushed decisions on his part.

“Oh, god…” he groans and covers his face with his hands as he sees Annie in her pajamas. “I am so stupid.”

Annie snorts, getting somewhat exasperated with Bertholdt’s mysterious behavior.

“Bertholdt, what is going on? Just calm down and explain everything now or leave,” she warns him.

“Sorry, Annie,” he apologizes again. “Umm… about the photo that you sent…”

He wants so bad to look at the floor, the ceiling. Anywhere, really, except her eyes because this was extremely embarrassing, but he forces himself to do it anyway. He is doing this out of concern for Annie, so at least he should be brave enough to see it through.

He bites his lower lip and continues. “The photo that you sent me was so… beautiful. And… um… I really, really appreciate it and I couldn’t stop looking at it–”

He coughs, and powers through.

“And I’m really sorry because I thought of you when I was… you know. N-no, but before that. I was trying to be fair so I thought about asking Reiner–”

“Reiner?! You told him?!”

“N-no! I thought about it for a second but I didn’t! I would never! Anyway, I–”

Annie puts a finger over his lips to shut him up.

“Okay, Bertholdt. I’m half asleep and you’re not making any sense. Let’s sit down. And don’t say sorry again.”

Bertholdt nods and she takes his hand and leads him to her bed, where they both sit next to each other on the edge.

“Okay, so I sent you the photo,” Annie begins.

“You sent me the photo but I was studying, so I didn’t see it until later. Then when I opened it it was… a nice surprise. Very nice. You are so pretty, Annie,” he says and blushes. “Um… so I thought I should send one to you, but I didn’t know how, so I had to look online for reference. That’s why I thought about asking Reiner but decided not to… Anyway, I sent you a picture…”

“Oh.”

Annie turns to the bedside table and grabs her phone, unlocks it and proceeds to tap on the notification, which brings up the photo Bertholdt had taken with much effort.

“ _ Oh _ ,” she says again with a surprised inflection.

Her eyes go wide as she takes in the shapes, colors and textures displayed on her screen. There’s nothing particularly impressive, objectively speaking, but Annie’s objective mind has been replaced by her girlfriend mind, seeing her partner’s bare chest in such a suggestive pose. Her mouth goes dry.

“Why–” she starts, but stops to clear her throat. “Why did you send it over?”

“I thought it would only be fair. Because you sent me something really precious and trusted me with it. I… wanted you to have something like that from me because I trust you.”

Annie sighs with a tender resignation. It was so like him to think things to this extent, when she had basically just sent the first picture that she had taken and gone straight to sleep. She had not even considered how he would react.

“Umm… anyways, I wanted to ask you to delete it,” he says, turning his face downward.

She raises an eyebrow. “Why? I like it.”

He mutters a bashful thank-you before continuing his explanation. “I don’t think we should be doing this, Annie. What if your father sees the photos? What if someone hacks into our phones or steals them?”

“That is why you came here?” she asks, narrowing her eyes and trying to understand his point of view.

“I know the chances of something like that happening are low and our faces are not showing, but Annie… I would never forgive myself if it got out and spread around. Or what your dad would do if he finds out.”

Her hand has been on top of his all of this time, and she uses her thumb to stroke the middle base knuckle of his.

“Did you delete my photo?”

“I did…” he admits, then continues. “It was really, really sexy, Annie. I got really excited. I-I deleted it but I don’t think I will ever be able to forget it.”

In the dim light irradiated by her lamp, she can see the very faint sheen of sweat forming on his flushed face.

"Did you masturbate to it?" she asks point-blank.

Bertholdt's body twitches nervously as the words escape her lips, and drops his face even more in shame.

"I did… N-not with the picture! I-I closed my eyes and imagined it… But it was the same pose…" he confesses quietly.

Annie nods. "Then the fair thing for me to do is to masturbate before deleting the picture, right?"

He turns to look at her slack-jawed.

"You said you wanted to send a photo to me so that it would be fair, right? So I have to use your photo while touching myself and then we'll be even and I can delete it."

Somehow this both made perfect sense and none at all at the same time.

"I… I guess," he admits.

The long silence between the two of them is finally broken by Annie.

“Do you want to watch?”

Bertholdt opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out of it. It takes a couple of seconds to finally produce a throaty “Watch what?”

Knowing that so much of the courage she finds when they are together actually comes from Bertholdt’s hesitant behavior, it actually unnerves Annie a bit when she finds her boyfriend for clarification. Even though it should be obvious given their conversation, the fact that she has to say it out loud is nerve-racking.

She avoids the question, instead opting to act on it. She lays on the bed and scoots to rest her back on the pillows that are pushed against the wall. Annie is so small that her legs fit perfectly inside the area of the mattress, and she bends them slightly to adjust her position to a more comfortable one (which happens to give a clearer view of her crotch area).

Bertholdt follows her with his head, eyes soft and somewhat unfocused, but before she can slide her hand under her pajama shorts, he reaches out to her. Annie’s heart skips a beat because he never takes initiative, and the moment he touches her leg she feels a warm tremor run through her body all the way to the tip of her ears.

“Your bruises,” he says softly.

She blinks. That was not what she was expecting to hear at all.

“From today’s training?”

“Yup,” she says, now uncomfortable. She hates being bruised, because bruises mean people would either think she was beaten in a fight —therefore consider her a loser—, or feel sorry for her.

“You’re so strong, Annie,” he murmurs softly, running the knuckle of his index finger up and down her shin with the utmost tenderness. “I really like that about you.”

The temerity she had felt just a few seconds earlier seems to disappear and she gathers her legs close to her body, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them.

“I was about to touch myself and you could only look at my bruises,” she says. “Am I that unappealing?” Her voice is calm and neutral, but she can’t help but feel a slight sting in her eyes as the words hit her. Bertholdt looks horrified.

“N-no! Annie, you are so, so… erotic.”

He covers his face immediately, choking a groan of shame at his choice of word. “Attractive. I mean, you are both! The things you make me feel and think whenever I see you… They’re not very proper.”

Annie nods, slightly reassured. “I see.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to not pay attention, promise. I just wanted to touch you, but with your bruises I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She knows that. This concern that sometimes turns into downright fear has been the only thing that has stopped them so many times before, despite the huge desire for each other. It’s endearing, but it also frustrates her to no end.

Their first kiss was initiated by him, and for these two years there have been many other instances of him being assertive. The issue was that they still hadn’t found the key to unlocking that in a way that was consistent or at least somewhat predictable. It always came in what seemed to be random or unlikely moments. The rest of the time, he usually deferred to her the decision-making.

“Annie… may I kiss you?” he asks.

This catches her a bit off-guard.

“Why do you have to ask? You are my boyfriend,” she says in what she hopes is a neutral tone, but knowing herself she is trying to make him just a bit uncomfortable.

“I know but… I am in your room at night and I don’t want to assume things just because we are a couple. You didn’t like it when I touched you earlier.”

She sighs. This is not the first time they had had a conversation of a similar nature. He is like a small puppy who grew too large too fast, who doesn’t realize he doesn’t fit anymore under the bed or that will throw himself to a person and knock them down with their brute strength. But Bertholdt  _ knows _ , and he is terrified to hurt her, physically or emotionally.

“I appreciate your concern but I don’t want you asking me for permission or apologizing every single step of the way.”

The boy nods awkwardly “I’ll try.”

Annie looks at him with a soft gaze.

“How about this? For tonight, I’ll tell you exactly what I want you to do to me. This way, you know you have permission and that I feel comfortable with it at the same time.”

Bertholdt brightens at the idea. It also really appeals to his natural tendency to follow instructions, but he doesn’t rationalize it that way.

“Okay, that… that sounds nice,” he says and blushes. Annie smiles at him.

“Good,” she says and lays down length-wise on her bed. “Kiss me.”

He returns her smile and lays beside her, having to bend his legs because he can’t fit all the way. Before he dips in, he places a hand on her waist. Their lips meet and they both hum with delight and something like relief. The tension that had been present between them since the beginning of this improvised encounter melts away as their kiss deepens, and they can finally relax.

Annie presses her body close to his, and he moans when the contact reminds him she is not wearing a bra.

“Do you want to touch?” she asks quietly, and when he gives the tiniest nod, she takes the hand laying on waist and places it on her breast.

Bertholdt draws a deep breath, which he slowly releases as he applies the slightest of pressures, squeezing lightly. She closes her eyes as he kneads it gingerly with only his thumb, his hand entirely too big. As he grazes her nipple, she stiffles a moan and shivers, and he repeats the action with awe at her reactions. Her hips roll on instinct. At such close distance, the effect it has on both of them is disorienting, being entirely too near and still too far from each other.

She raises her leg, hooks it to his so that her core presses against his hard-on. The response is immediate, and they break the kiss to throw their heads back at the unexpected pleasure.

“Annie…” he whispers and gulps. "Maybe… we should stop…"

"Why?"

"Your father…"

"You know father doesn't wake up even if I play my guitar at this hour," she hisses in response and moves to kiss him again but stops. "Don't bring my father up again while we're doing this."

Her mouth finds Bertholdt's again and consumes him with fiery passion, her tongue delving deep and tasting him with relish as she sways her pelvis and her soft mound grinds against his length.

Bertholdt drowns a moan and his eyebrows knit together in pleasure, and Annie finds him extremely handsome.

"Do you still want to stop?" she asks.

He draws a shaky breath before answering, "We can't go all the way. I want to make it special for you, Annie… When we..."

She places her palm on his clothed erection and his hips shoot forward. Annie's mind gets fuzzy as she runs it up and down his length, and he rests his forehead against hers, panting.

"Over the clothes is fine?" she inquires again with her usual nonchalant tone of voice.

Bertholdt wheezes, unable to thread words together to form a coherent thought. Annie's index finger runs up the length all the way to the waistband of his underwear and hooks it there, pulling suggestively.

"Or…"

"N-no!" he whispers harshly, taking her wrist to stop her. "Over the clothes… is fine..."

Annie smiles teasingly as she carefully removes her finger and returns the elastic to its rightful place.

"What's the matter, Bert?"

His answer is barely audible, just a string of breaths that sound like words. "If you do that… I don't think there would be turning back… What if I can't stop?"

It takes everything in Annie not to chuckle or roll her eyes. She is certain Bertholdt truly believes that in some way or another, but he has proved time and time again he would stop the second she asked him to. They had spent years as a couple in his mind with the barest physical touch because she avoided it, and he had claimed multiple times he had been the happiest boy with her.

"Would it be bad if we didn't stop?" she asks, her hand making her way under his shirt.

His belly is flat but soft, and it gives her a thrill to see him suck air through gritted teeth to prevent a moan from escaping.

"I… It should be special. Our first time," he whines tremulously, going back to his earlier point.

"What could be more special than the intimacy and familiarity of our bedrooms?" she asks in a whisper that comes out surprisingly sultry.

They have stopped their grinding for a moment, as it’s more than evident that Bertholdt needs to concentrate to articulate a full thought.

"A hotel. Maybe a cabin in the mountains… somewhere nice and romantic," Bertholdt murmurs, his face getting close to Annie's.

"So you have thought about it," she comments as she steals a kiss from him, then returns to her initial position to observe him with half-lidded eyes.

He blushes. "I have."

This admission gives her a thrill, both because he admitted it so blatantly, without protests or apologies, and because of the curiosity that bloomed within her.

“How is it?"

He hesitates, embarrassed.

“Tell me while I touch myself,” she requests.

The moment the words come out of her mouth she feels her whole face heat up. Maybe it had been too much, but Bertholdt’s eyes are dark with desire. He licks his lips and opens his mouth, probably to protest, but nothing comes out.

“Do it and we'll call it even,” Annie offers with subdued excitement. With every passing second, the idea of listening to her boyfriend confess his fantasies of them together seems more and more appealing. “Then I'll delete your picture."

Bertholdt had all but forgotten about the photo in Annie’s phone. It seemed hours had passed since he had arrived to her room, but it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes so far.

“Okay…”

Annie's hand slides down her pants, and Bertholdt follows its trajectory with his eyes and shudders as he sees the outline of her fingers moving in circles.

“Roses. There are so many roses. Red. Candles. A record player playing Etta James,” he begins tentatively, pausing every few words.

Annie closes her eyes briefly as she imagines the scene. The whole setting is thoroughly Bertholdt. He loves records and vintage music, a love that she now shared after spending whole summers in his room laying down on the floor and listening to the latest addition to his collection.

The roses were also something of his addition, mostly. He had once asked her what her favorite flowers were and since she had none, she had mentioned her late mother’s favorite, which were red roses. She was not much of a flower person but, once again, he had made her appreciate them as he would often present them to her after a concert or for an important date. She now associated red roses with him as much as to her mother.

And candles… That was just Bertholdt’s romantic self improvising.

“We kiss in the bed, and we lay down and touch each other," he continues.

“How do you touch me?”

“I put my hand in your waist, then go down to your hips… then your butt.”

He pauses and takes a deep breath. Annie can feel his body irradiate warmth, and she is certain he must be sweating profusely from the nerves.

“What happens then?” she coaxes him.

“I squeeze it. You moan next to my ear and I get excited. You grab me…”

“Your cock?”

“Y-yes. With both hands. You run them up and down. It feels good.”

Annie gives a small whine, her mind clearly imagining everything thanks to her proximity to Bertholdt. His smell, the feeling of having him close, the rhythm of his breathing, his warmth, his voice. This was the next best thing.

“I'm glad,” she murmurs. “That it feels good. What else?”

He pauses to gather his courage.

“I ask you if I can go down on you," he finally manages to say.

The blonde girl giggles breathily. “Even in your fantasies you ask for permission.”

Bertholdt returns the giggle, half flustered and half emboldened by her positive response.

“Of course,” he says with a sheepish laugh. “Knowing that you want it and are comfortable with me is important… and sexy.”

Annie bites her lip at the use of the word sexy. It seems so unnatural in her boyfriend she barely managed to contain a loud laugh that formed in the back of her throat. Still, she appreciates the effort. Sometimes, it seems to her that they are but children trying to act as the adults they see in TV shows, playing at romance and parroting phrases that sometimes feel too out-of-place. But, again, if there was anyone she would want to do this with, it was Bertholdt.

“Is it?” she asks.

“It is,” he confirms. “It feels like you're telling me  _ 'I want you' _ ”.

"I can say that anytime you want, instead," Annie offers.

“I'll think about it,” he says and leans forward to plant a kiss on her lips.

Her eyes flutter open. She had not expected that, and when their gazes meet her heart leaps dangerously. He is even more handsome than usual, and there is something unnerving about the darkness of his usually bright green eyes as he observes her that makes her shiver.

“Keep going,” she exhorts him with a raspy voice. “What happens next?”

“I kiss your neck, your chest, your abdomen,” he recounts, tracing the route in real life with his index finger. “Then I take off your underwear.”

“Am I wet?”

Bertholdt sighs, and closes his own eyes. “You are  _ so _ wet and you smell so good.”

Annie leans forward a bit and rests her forehead on his chest, nuzzling slightly on his t-shirt that is starting to feel somewhat damp.

“Your lips are open like a flower, and your… button… it's pink and swollen. My mouth waters as I get near.”

Annie moans as she imagines the scene, her own cunt pulsing in excitement. Bertholdt’s narration has started being more fluent and detailed and it made her all the more receptive to the movements of her hand between her legs.

“I put my tongue on it softly, exploring your folds with the tip of my tongue. I go up and down until I find your entrance and circle it. Some of the juices fall on my tongue,” he pauses for a second to calm down. “You taste so good, Annie.”

The blonde girl's fingers continue working on her clit as her imagination flies with the smooth, deep voice of her boyfriend guiding it.

“I go back and lick your rosebud. You moan loudly, but just as pretty as you are doing now. You say my name.”

“Bertholdt…”

“Uh-huh,” he confirms between pants of his own. He casually palms his erection through his sweatpants and boxers to obtain some relief.

“I swirl my tongue, flick it back and forth, suck on it lightly until you climax. I lick you clean and make my way up again. We kiss, and you can taste yourself on my lips.”

“Ooh…”

Bertholdt pauses and moves back a bit. At this distance he can see Annie touching herself and he helplessly joins her, stroking himself in earnest. She opens her eyes at the conspicuous sound of rhythmic friction of skin against cloth, and it looks like he is lost in thought. She considers letting him enjoy it for a moment, but after several seconds she grows impatient.

“What else, Bert?”

“What else?”

“When do we have sex? Do I suck you off?”

He lets out a small, strangled groan and a breathy laugh as her suggestion reverberates inside his body unexpectedly. His eyes crinkle as his lips break into a huge smile.

“We make love… You are eager and ready and you straddle my hips as you lower yourself. Take me in slowly and you feel so good.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Ah… it's warm and wet and so tight. You wrap around me and my… my thing twitches.”

“Your cock.”

“Y-yes.”

“It feels good,” Annie improvises, certain Bertholdt had little idea of how to describe it from her point of view.

Not that she had much idea either, since the only things she had inserted had been tampons, but she had imagined it. Whenever she masturbated, she often felt the need for something hard to be inside of her.

“It’s big and hard and it fills me up completely,” she ventures, swallowing the embarrassment of actually narrating her fantasy and not just piping up comments here and there. “It rubs my insides and stretches me until I can no longer think straight. Then I move up and slam down hard.”

“Yes…” Bertholdt says, gripping himself harder. Just like in his fantasies, Annie had now become the assertive one, taking control of the masturbation session.

“I bounce on you again and again, and it's building up. You put your hands in my hips to pull me to you to go even deeper.”

"Please…"

“And then it happens. I cum again, and I get even tighter and you come inside–”

“Inside the condom,” he interjects quickly.

“You didn't put a condom on in your narration,” Annie reminds him.

This was just like him.

“Oh… but let's say I did,” he insists, and she feels her own buildup lowering and her irritation growing.

“You didn't,” she protests, her voice tinged with annoyance. She had to shut this down before it was too late. “Imagine I'm on the pill and we decided not to use one.”

“No method is 100% effective in preventing pregnancy,” he recites automatically.

_ ‘Give me patience,’ _ she implores to whatever divine entity was listening at the moment.

“Bertholdt, it's just a fantasy,” she reminds him, trying her best to keep her cool. That is just the way her boyfriend was, and she cared for him so much, but honestly… She had been so ready to orgasm just a few moments earlier and now that was gone.

“I know but fantasies work best when they're realistic enough to believe them,” he says softly.

He sounds ashamed, and Annie’s heart swells with tenderness. She sighs and gives in.

“Okay, then let's say we don't use them because we're married.”

“O-oh…”

Bertholdt’s whole body shivers at her scenario proposition.

“Would that fit into  _ ‘realistic’ _ for you?”

She was certain that he would only agree to do something like that in the context of marriage, when her getting pregnant would not be something to be avoided at all costs but a blessing in his eyes.

“But then the fantasy wouldn't be our first time?" he asks.

“Bertholdt Hoover, don't tell me you're implying we engage in premarital sex,” Annie says in mock outrage.

He laughs softly and places a hand on her hip.

“So it’s something you see as realistic? I mean… would you like to marry–” he stops, changes his wording before he makes the horrible mistake of making it sound like a marriage proposal. Even he wouldn’t do that. “Us… in the future?”

Sometimes her boyfriend could make her run out of patience in a matter of seconds. Other times, he can make her fall in love with him all over again in even less time. That is what happens in the moment, and she can usually pinpoint the blame to his eyes. The way he looks at her with unfaltering adoration makes her heart soar —though she would never go as far as to tell him that. He knows how much trouble she has expressing her feelings.

“I would like that,” she admits. She moves so that their faces are close enough and gives him a quick peck on the cheeks.

“Oh, Annie… I–”

“But,” she cuts him off pointedly, “I would really like to cum right now. And I bet you would, too.”

He chuckles and nods. “Alright. I… I guess we can fast forward a bit.”

“Please,” she begs playfully.

Bertholds scoots closer to her again and lowers his head to her chest, nuzzling against it much like she had done to him earlier. Annie smiles at how happy he looks as he presses his cheek against her breasts.

They both put one hand down their respective underwear and continue.

“You are on your back, I am on top of you and we are kissing,” he begins. “Your legs are spread, each on either side of my waist. I am pressed against your sex, and I move my hips so that I can slide all the way along it.”

“The head of your dick keeps hitting my clit,” Annie supplements. “I want it so bad inside me and you keep teasing me.”

“Yeah, I want to be inside you too, but I want to take it slow…”

Annie will not have that.

“You align it to my entrance and tease me even more. I put my legs around your waist and pull you to me and it goes in,” she whispers excitedly.

Her core is now begging to be filled just as her fantasy, and it's a pleasurable need that will someday be fulfilled, but not right now. She focuses on the bundle of nerves that is very near release.

Bertholdt's body trembles with delight as his girlfriend is so obviously enjoying this, so he lets her continue narrating. She looks so beautiful right now, with her cheeks flushed and strands of blonde hair falling on her face.

“It's everything I wanted,” she sighs, and Bertholdt is suddenly overcome with devotion for her.

He can't have her now, so he bites the neckline of her tank top and pulls it down, revealing her right breast. His heart almost stops (and so does Annie's) as he contemplates it with aching desire. He brings his mouth to the pink, hardened nipple and pecks it briefly, then covers it and uses the tip of his tongue to circle the areola before giving tiny, quick licks that make Annie feel an overwhelming pleasure that travels all the way to her cunt.

She arches her back, her body naturally responding and wanting to feel more and more. She is unable to speak anymore, her mind not wanting a fantasy anymore but the be really in the moment with her boyfriend.

Bertholdt releases the grip on himself and uses his now free hand to stimulate Annie's other nipple over the clothes.

The pants and muted moans fill the air. It's hot and Bertholdt's skin is sticky with sweat, and she wants this to last for hours, to be held and loved and caressed like this until she can't bear it any longer.

It doesn't happen because it only takes her a minute to peak, to reach an orgasm that makes her whole being vibrate. Spasms of pleasure make her shake, and her muscles tightening and relaxing over and over make her hot and cold at the same time.

He quietly removes himself and averts his eyes while pulling her tank top again to cover her breast modestly.

Annie lays on her bed completely dazed, breathing hard while the gentle tingle in her extremities fades slowly.

“That was amazing,” she whispers, savoring her first orgasm in a team effort.

“I'm glad you liked it,” Bertholdt says, beaming lovingly at her. “You look so beautiful right now.”

She can't blush anymore. Her face is already cherry-red, but she doesn't really feel embarrassed or shy, just completely comfortable and happy. Soon her mind is able to refocus and remembers he is probably still raring to go but wouldn’t say anything so that she could enjoy herself as long as she wanted to.

So she had to intervene.

"Now let me help you," Annie says as she incorporates herself to a sitting position.

"Oh, you don't have–" he begins to protest but she stops him.

"I want to," she interjects. "Do you want to do it laying down or sitting?"

"Umm… I guess laying down," he says and adjusts his position to fit as well as possible in the mattress.

Annie hovers over him, holding herself on her hands and knees. She takes his left hand and pulls it softly between her legs. She guides his fingers under her panties, and before he can say anything, she shushes him sweetly to disimulate a whimper.

“Can you feel how wet I am?”

Bertholdt nods.

“Imagine you are inside me. Touch yourself while imagining us joined.”

His fingers graze her folds and she keens.

“Oh, Annie…” he moans, and Annie feels herself getting excited again.

“Touch yourself,” she instructs him again. “I want to see you cum…”

He smiles helplessly and proceeds to wrap his hand around his engorged member and pump it in earnest, seeking a release.

“You feel it, right? You are inside of me,” Annie whispers, coaxing him to tell her what he is visualizing.

“Y-yes. You are so tight,” mumbles, his voice trembling and vibrating because of the jerking motion.

“You are thrusting hard and deep. It's too good.”

“You like it? Do you feel good, Annie?” he asks, eager to please even in his fantasy.

“I like it. I like you so much.”

“Annie…”

Her name is always on his mouth. He says it every time he can, pronouncing it with the utmost love as if it was a treasure. She is sure that to him it is.

“Bertholdt...” she calls for him softly.

He opens his eyes, breaking the fantasy. “I’m going to...” he informs her, and he looks so handsome and helpless she finds herself wanting him bad.

“I would take you right now if I could,” she growls.

Bertholdt moans. “I  _ am _ yours, Annie. Always have been.”

The climax arrives a few seconds later, made evident by a single strangled groan and subsequent whimpers. He wraps one arm around Annie to pull her close to him, and she lets herself fall on his chest slowly. He is sweating profusely, but she finds she rather likes it. The smell is nice, too. There's something about it that makes her feel comfortable and calm.

“I'm gonna have to wash these when I get home,” he says softly as he wipes his hand on his sweatpants and she snorts.

“Sorry, I should have given you a tissue or something.”

"Don't worry about it. It was worth it."

She rolls over so that they lay side by side, glowing and smiling at each other. Then Bertholdt yawns, which makes Annie do the same.

"I could fall asleep right now,” he mumbles. “But it probably isn't a good idea."

“Definitely not,” she agrees.

They spend several minutes in the comfortable silence they know so well, that only works because it’s them.

“I should head home,” Bertholdt finally manages to say after much debate in his mind.

He wants to stay but they both know that the longer he stays, the more likely they would both fall asleep and who knows what would happen then if they were careless and got caught. Just because this whole makeout session had been improvised didn't mean they had to be imprudent or act like they didn't know better.

He kisses her once before going down the window and making his way home. After the warm cocoon of Annie’s bed, the air was bound to chill him, but he found he didn’t mind at all.

Annie on her part left the window open, hoping the musky smell of maleness dissipated before morning. She'd thinks she’d probably have to light a candle in the morning to help move things along.

~ * ~

As Bertholdt falls on his bed, his mind and heart and body full of Annie's memories, he gets a text message.

> **[Annie L.]**
> 
> Photo deleted. You’ll have to make up for it in other ways.

Bertholdt chuckles lightly. He had completely forgotten the reason he had even gone to Annie's room in the first place.

> **[Bertholdt H.]**
> 
> 😘
> 
> Thank you. Good night, Annie.

He falls asleep before his head even touches the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the fic! I will be forever grateful <3.
> 
> If you like Pokopiku/Beruani/the Warriors, feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/gwenynbright) (shitposts, controversial opinions and art) or [Tumblr](https://professaurus.tumblr.com/) (just art), where I post more of my fanart (both sfw and nsfw).


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